2003

2003 was the year I moved to Uppsala. Or the outskirts, I had to go by bus to actually be inside the city. This was the view out from my window. I liked it. Miss the people, especially when there’s snow. Don’t know why but that’s how it is.

1995-1999

The first years I had Internet, most of them spent on being hooked to Usenet. I miss that, the communication that was public yet not. It was a brief time of happy even though I did end up drifting away before most other people. All because of the same plague that almost always occur: even if I love people dearly, there’s still that nagging feeling of never truly belong.

Those that did stay a while after me soon also left as Usenet more or less broke down, quite a few ended up on livejournal but that never was a good fit for me. Never. It’s probably great for those that have many friends and are not afraid to ask to be included. I’ve never been good at asking that — what if they say no? Can you tell I’m terrible at adding people on facebook too?

2000 marked the beginning of blogging at the Lost Pages, then The Lost Pages of Vindication of Eternity. I fitted in. Then I grew restless, I’m stupid that way. I really hope I don’t do that with tumblr.

1950

1950. A hard year to find a properly themed post to, but it turned out that Peanuts started then. I’m not a real fan of the earliest days, so these strips are from 1965. Still counts though.

1929

When I look back, I’ve probably had bouts with depression since I was nine-ten or  so. There was signs of panic attacks and I skipped school quite a bit. Of course, I’ve been the silent type and just got on somehow. “Accepting” is probably a good word for it, but maybe not. Perhaps “bottling up” fits better, at least on the later parts. I’ve been on medication for only two years, and while the anxieties have loosened up quite a bit they’re still there wreaking havoc.

The mind doesn’t go as dark anymore (there are no scars on the body, but that’s because I’ve got a slight phobia against seeing my own blood) but the self-doubt, the worthlessness, the days when everything conspire against me as a laughing megalomaniac — they’re still there. At first it might look like a small rock on the road, easily avoided or why not, just run over it. Only when it’s right up in the face, the rock turns out to be the Thing and he’s in a clobbin’ time mood. So instead of running over or evade, one ends up on the side of the road, fifteen feet back and with the head bleeding in a ditch. 

There are days when the bed holds me hostage, and there are days when a scream doesn’t have more force and loudness than a whimper. All this is worse when friends are few and far between. Some where far between — it’s not like I can walk for five minutes and knock on a door.

I might be talking out of my ass, but I assume it would have been easier if it would have been far more brief than it was or is. It’s hard to find a path back when there’s hardly any path to begin with. This is very apparent socially.